


oh please say to me you'll let me

by lavendrsblue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Daichi suffers, Fluff, Holding Hands, Ice Cream Dates, M/M, Post-Canon, awkward high schoolers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 04:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendrsblue/pseuds/lavendrsblue
Summary: This has been a personal hang-up for some time now: he and Suga have had multiple one-on-one-hangouts-slash-dates, but they’re exclusive now—they have even kissed, more than once, and every time Daichi feels like he’s ascending to a higher plane of existence—but.They have not held hands, not even once.





	oh please say to me you'll let me

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to meg @strikinglight for continually punching me in the face with these twitter prompts which get Way Out of Hand
> 
> title from a beatles song, you have three guesses as to which one

Tonight’s the night—Daichi feels it deep in his chest. For his and Suga’s first date since officially getting together, they’re seeing a movie and getting ice cream, and at some point in the night they’re finally going to do it.

Hold hands, that is.

This has been a personal hang-up for some time now: He and Suga had multiple one-on-one-hangouts-slash-dates, but they’re _exclusive_ now—they have even kissed, more than once, and every time Daichi feels like he’s ascending to a higher plane of existence—but. They have not held hands, not even once.

During school it’s out of the question. PDA is not within Daichi’s realm of comfort, and every time Suga even looks at him for more than four seconds he blushes from neck to hairline. During practice is even more of a no; they agreed from the start that they’d keep things low-key for the sake of the team (although they couldn’t stop Noya and Tanaka from screaming and high-fiving everyone in the gym when they found out). And during their dates thus far, Daichi has been paralyzed with an unusual shyness, brought on perhaps by the near-disbelief that any of this—this budding relationship between him and Suga—is even happening.

And so hands go unheld. It is driving him to distraction. Daichi knows on some distant level that thinking about hand-holding this much is maybe not healthy.

But tonight it’s going to happen! When the movie starts, when the lights go down, as the opening credits roll, he’ll casually reach over and take Suga’s hand in his.

Should he interlock their fingers? Maybe that’s too intimate. He should just put his hand on top of Suga’s, probably.

“Popcorn?” Suga asks, offering him the enormous bucket, and Daichi practically jumps out of his chair.

Thankfully he’s saved from too much embarrassment by the dimming lights as the previews begin. Daichi steels himself. _Any minute now._ He can’t jump the gun—if he makes a move before the movie starts, he’ll look too eager.

Suga’s hand rests on the armrest between them, and Daichi stares, imagining manga-style sweatdrops on his forehead. Have there ever been this many previews before any movie, ever? Surely there are more than usual tonight. He wipes his palms on his jeans—and then repeats the motion. And again. _Why are his hands so sweaty._ He shouldn’t have imagined the sweatdrops, he probably jinxed himself—he never has sweaty hands, Daichi is not a sweaty person, he is hand-sweat-free under normal circumstances. But now at this crucial moment his glands betray him. _Shit_.

He scrubs his palms on his jeans a few more times, but it doesn’t really work; the spaces between his fingers are still kind of damp. There’s no way he can hold Suga’s hand right now. First impressions are crucial, and if his first hand-holding experience with Suga is sweaty and warm-gross, Suga might never want to hold his hand _ever again_ , much less touch any other part of him.

So Daichi tucks his hands under his thighs, trying not to wilt as the opening titles begin. Maybe later he’ll have better luck.

 

* * *

 

The movie ends. Daichi’s luck does not improve.

As the ending credits roll, Suga hugs the now-empty popcorn bucket, which leaves neither of his hands available for potential holding. And when they’re out of the theater, any attempt seems way too obvious under the harsh fluorescent lights. Daichi stuffs his hands into his coat pockets with a little more force than necessary.

“Daichi, are you okay?” Suga tilts his head; Daichi freezes. “You look… angry?"

“No, no! It’s just—wow, it’s so cold out, isn’t it? Can’t even feel my hands.” He forces a laugh, and Suga smiles uncertainly. “So, uh, ice cream?”

“If you’re too cold, we don’t have to get any…”

“ _No_ ,” says Daichi. Suga’s eyebrows go up, startled. “I mean, no, I’m not that cold, I just need to walk around a bit. Ha ha.”

“If you say so.” Suga watches him from the corner of his eye as they walk, and it’s all Daichi can do to stare straight ahead. Ice cream. He can do this. He probably has one more shot while they’re at the ice cream shop, before the night is over.

Suga orders an ice cream cone, and Daichi a cup. Thirty seconds too late he realizes his fatal mistake: a cup requires both hands to eat, versus just one for a cone.

But it’s too late: the deed is done, and the clatter of the ice cream scoop is a bell tolling. _No hand holding for you_ , it chimes.

Daichi closes his eyes and breathes in very deeply. _Fall down seven times, stand up eight._

“Wow, that flavor must be good,” says Suga, blithely. “You look like you’re really savoring it.”

Suga chatters on while they eat, talking about the movie’s special effects and the handsome second-lead actor, but Daichi can only manage short responses. He can’t shake his laser-focus on Suga’s hands—his elegant hands, long slim fingers and pinkish palms.

Suga finishes his ice cream cone, resting his free hand on the table. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, unaware. This is it: the final opportunity.

Daichi makes a grab for his hand just as Suga reaches for his water cup, and by some tragedy of nature they clash—Daichi ends up smacking Suga’s hand and the water goes flying over the small table and Suga’s lap, and he jumps up, cursing.

“Sorry—oh god—” Daichi scrambles for a napkin as Suga shakes his hands out, scattering water droplets.

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs as Daichi furiously pats at his sleeve.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

“Daichi, I really don’t mind.” His grin fades a little at the distress on Daichi’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong? You’ve been a little off all night.” Daichi slumps, napkin forgotten.

“Shit.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Daichi…”

“You’ll laugh at me,” he mumbles.

“No laughing here.” Suga arranges his face into a neutral expression, bumping Daichi’s shoulder gently. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

Suga waits. Daichi caves.

“Ijustwantedtoholdyourhand,” he says very fast. His shoulders are hunched so far that the collar of his coat brushes his ears. “See, I told you you’d laugh.”

Silence. Daichi doesn’t dare look up.

“You…want to hold my hand?”

He nods at his shoes. He hopes Suga won’t notice his neck burning red.

And then, a gentle nudge at his wrist, moving his forgotten ice cream cup away. Slim, cool fingers twine into his. Suga’s voice, very close to his ear, ghosting against his skin: “I’ll do this anytime you want.”


End file.
